Chapter 14:

Disclaimer: I hold no rights to anything of the 'Harry Potter' universe. I make no money writing about it… I just enjoy playing with the characters.

A/N: It's been a long time coming, but here it is… I was kinda ticked off by Portkey's suspension of this story… it had NO child sexuality and, in my opinion, described an 'ATTEMPTED' sexual assault, even though it showed nothing explicit and explained in later chapters that Harry had stopped the attacker before anything happened… quite unfair, if you ask me. It kinda worked against my motivations I had to adjust some aspects of the story and I went back and changed the wording on a few things. Maybe someday I'll re-submit the story to Portkey, but right now... meh... Still, here is the next installment. I'll certainly make a greater effort to get the next chapter out much quicker than this one… my work environment has changed favorably, so I have a bit more time to start getting back into writing. As it stands right now, I still have no intention of abandoning this story. I believe have about 40 or more chapters outlined, with quite a few more chapters planned beyond that… it's going to be one hell of a ride before it's over. (Word Count: 4105)

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Chapter 14: Out of the Frying Pan?

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From The Life of Harry James Potter – Excerpt from Chapter 127: Unconventional Offence using Basic Transfigurations

Transfiguration is the most underestimated sphere of magic when it comes to dueling and battles. Most of these techniques were conceived and developed by Hermione, and were invaluable to me during the many confrontations with Voldemort and his followers.

Generally, transfiguration takes too long to cast, usually has very long incantations, and the caster must focus his entire concentration on the end result. Such as it is, Transfigurations are useful only in an initial surprise assault where the defender has no idea that an attack is taking place.

During a heated duel, time and concentration are usually at a premium, so a lengthy transmogrification is something that most wizards wouldn't dare attempt. Even if a transfiguration were attempted during a duel, the attacker would almost certainly try to do a human transfiguration to put the defender at a physical disadvantage, and the defender would almost certainly recognize the magic for what it was and could quite easily counter it.

The key is to use the simplest forms of transfiguration. For example, let's go back to the matchstick-to-needle exercise. By now, you should be able to perform this organic-to-mineral transformation quickly and easily. The incantation is short, and the concentration required to complete the transformation is minimal. As you know, some metals are easier to produce than others. Gold and lead are virtually impossible without alchemic augmentation, metals such as copper and zinc are somewhat easier, but still require too much concentration to complete quickly, and the ferrous metals like iron are by far the quickest and easiest.

Since the quantity of source material is a non-factor, a matchstick fifty meters long could be transformed just as easily as an ordinary two-inch long matchstick can. The same truth would apply to a fifty meter long toothpick, vine, or even a ribbon… any organic material would have the same base structure, and though the individual threads may be woven together, the item would be treated as a single unit for transfiguration purposes.

Now, since nearly all wizard clothing is made from natural fibers such as cotton, linen, and the like, the transfiguration of someone's shirt or robe from cloth to iron is an incredibly simple and effective way to immobilize an opponent. The advantages of this magical maneuver, especially if cast non-verbally, should be readily apparent…the opponent would never expect it, transfigurations are unaffected by shielding spells, the effects are permanent and instantaneous, it cannot be undone by a simple 'Finite,' and, most importantly, the victim would no longer be wearing a two pound robe, but a hundred-plus pound metal shroud which would certainly send him immediately and painfully to the ground. If the target is in motion or in a particularly precarious position, (as on a staircase or a roof, or in a tree) the result would be that much more effective.

If clothing is transfigured on a moving target, the momentum would also be transferred to the now impossibly heavy garment, probably inducing severe physical damage upon impact with the ground. Weight, inertia, velocity, mass… wizards just don't think about these things… they don't usually think outside of the box. If the target is wearing especially tight-fitting, long-sleeved clothing, this would not only prevent a counterattack by completely restricting his movements, but could also constrict certain circulatory and neurological paths which, given enough time, could cause the target permanent physical damage, and maybe even death.

Other ways to use this technique to great effect, especially if the victim is unawares – Hats, Shoes, Ropes, Wooden doors, Tapestries, Curtains/drapes, Overhead tree limbs and leaves, etc. (If being pursued outdoors, transfiguring blades of grass, flowers, or fallen leaves into iron along their path could give your opponents a most painful surprise!) A wooden staircase that suddenly turns to iron would almost certainly collapse under its own weight if the supports are left as wood. A little thought, awareness, and ingenuity is usually all it takes to get one out of the very stickiest of situations, but a healthy helping of luck doesn't hurt, either.

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Sunday, July 2nd, 1989 11:56 AM

The acrid smell of smoke permeated the steamy air as Harry, still in his older body, stood in the shower with his clothes piled around his feet and the water cascading down around him. Dark rivers of sooty water from his body and clothes circled the drain and disappeared into its depths.

Harry was standing with his eyes closed and his head against the wall as the warm spray beat against his back. The warmth of the water stung at the numerous blistering welts that peppered his skin. He wished that Wynmae was back to heal him up a bit, but he could tell that she was still very far away. He wasn't sure how he could tell, but he always just seemed to know where she was.

His thoughts drifted back to the scared, blonde-headed girl back at the tower. Although they had only just met, he could feel that they had something in common. Just the way that she practically begged him to visit her again told him that she was just as desperate for friendship as he was. He did promise to see her again, after all… and something inside of him suggested that she could be trusted. He just hoped that she didn't tell anyone about his changing appearance. He would just have to be careful when he decides to visit her again.

He also thought about his little friend's trip to deliver the letter. At first, he had asked Wynmae to help his godfather escape from Azkaban by turning them both into mist and just fly away, but Wynmae explained that she could only do that with Harry now because they were bonded… whatever that meant. He tried to get an explanation from the little creature a few times before, but she didn't seem to understand how to describe what their connection was and what it entailed. They were simply bonded… a shared existence. He made a mental note that if he did decide to visit that blonde girl he would make a point of finding a way to read what he had noticed in the display case in her home.

Once the water at the bottom of the tub was running clear, Harry turned off the shower and wrung out the clothes at his feet. There was nothing left of the blue sundress, most of which was left back in the burning room in the tower. The remainder of his clothes that were in the backpack still smelled of smoke. He tentatively sniffed at the sopping wet clothes in his arms and could still detect the burnt odor. He would have to throw them out and get some new ones.

When Harry tiredly stepped out from the bathroom and into the hallway with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his ears were assaulted by a loud, startled scream. He looked down the hall and saw Jaana fumbling in her clothes and looking towards him with wide, terrified eyes. For a moment, Harry wondered why she was home so early, and what it was that had spooked her so badly. He immediately looked the other way down the hall, expecting to see some sort of threat there. When he saw that there was nothing there but an empty hallway, it dawned on him that he was the threat… he was still in his older body.

"Jaana! Wait!" cried Harry desperately as Jaana finally freed her wand from her pocket, "It's me, Ha…"

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Sunday, July 2nd, 1989 12:02 PM

A solitary, shadowed figure in a dank, drab cell sat shivering on a stone slab protruding from the wall that served as his bed. A dark gray frost coated the rough, hewn-stone walls that surrounded him. The only light came from a barred opening high above on the rear wall of the dingy cell. Even at midday, the dreary, overcast sky above the island prison of Azkaban let very little light reach the ancient stone fortress.

The man could tell that mealtime was approaching because of the receding feelings of depression and hopelessness that accompanied the temporary departure of the dread prison guards.

Sure enough, a few minutes passed before he heard the shuffling of feet outside of his cell. Moments later, a small tray containing a cup of water and a bowl of rice with some unidentifiable, meat-like substance slid through the opening at the bottom of his cell door.

"There ya go, Black…" came a gruff voice from beyond the door, "Eat up. Ya wouldn't want to be all weak and wimpy when yer master returns."

Laughter echoed through the door as the guard continued down the hallway.

Sirius stood from the bed, picked up the tray, and began to wolf down the meager meal while the dementors were still away. While he was eating, he didn't notice the wispy cloud of mist that flowed through the barred window and descended to hover over his bed. A parchment envelope materialized within the foggy cloud and silently fluttered down onto the dirty covers. The cloud then hovered up into a dark corner near the ceiling and waited.

Sirius finished his food and slid the tray back through the doorway. He turned around and froze in his tracks when he saw the envelope lying in the spot where he had just been sitting. His eyes darted around the cell, looking for anything else that was out of place.

Sirius slowly walked to the bed and looked down at the envelope. There, scrawled across its face, were the words, 'Sirius Black,' written in a messy scrawl that looked strangely familiar to him.

He once again looked around his cell searching for the source of the letter, but he was definitely alone. When Sirius reached down to pick up the envelope, it let out a faint yellow glow at his touch and unfolded into a wide sheet of parchment. His eyes narrowed in the dim light as he strained to read the words on the paper.

'Dear Sirius,

You are innocent of betraying the Potters.

I can't tell you how I know this, but I do. I also know that you can escape from that hell-hole any time you like, but you think that there's nowhere for you to go, and that you somehow deserve your punishment for suggesting to the Potters that Pettigrew take your place as their Secret-Keeper… Yes, I know that, too.

I sent this message to tell you that you are not responsible for what happened, Wormtail is…and to tell you that there is a safe place where you can go, and that's with me. If you're thinking that you can't forgive yourself for what happened, it's unnecessary… if you feel you must be forgiven, then I forgive you.

You ask who am I to forgive you? I'm the only one who can. I am Harry Potter.

There… you're forgiven. Now get out of that place as soon as you can. Go to the place where Moony used to go when he had his 'furry little problem' and wait there for me. I will check there at midnight every night this week. If you don't show up during that time, I will still check there for you once a week.

I'm asking you to make it out on your own and let me find you on my own terms… not because I don't trust you, but because of the ignorance of my present guardians…

Once you're free, we can get to work on finding that 'rat' who is responsible for making our lives a living hell…only then will you be truly free, and I know exactly where he is hiding.

Hoping to see you soon,

Harry James Potter.'

As Sirius finished reading the letter, a wet spatter appeared on the parchment, followed by several others. He fell to his knees, grabbed the parchment from the bed, and clutched it tightly to his chest as the tears ran down his face. What the dementors couldn't do in over eight years, a nine-year-old boy did in less than a minute. A moment later, the parchment seemed to dissolve away in his hands, dissipating into a puff of mist.

A fire seemed to light in Sirius' eyes… a spark, an aliveness that hadn't been seen there in many years. He wondered how the boy knew all of those secrets… nobody knew outside of Voldemort, Wormtail, the Potters and himself. He didn't think it was Pettigrew… why would the rat want him out of prison? It was much safer for Peter if he were kept locked away. He had no choice but to trust that it was Harry Potter. This was the first glimmer of hope he had since that fateful day in Godric's Hollow… he wasn't about to give up on it quite yet.

High above, just as quickly as it had arrived, the wispy cloud silently retreated back through the window and disappeared into the gloom.

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Sunday, July 2nd, 1989 12:48 AM

"He's definitely British… the accent was unmistakable," whispered Jaana hurriedly, "and he knows my name! I have no idea how he found us here… you know we've been very careful…"

"Just stay calm, woman," answered a deep, distant-sounding voice, "Now, you say the boy isn't in the house?"

"I've checked every room. He's not here, but his wand is on his nightstand!"

"Well, just keep the man bound and check around the house again. I'm still working on the Lovegood woman, so it will be a while longer before I can make it there. Just stay calm and I'll come over as soon as I can get things wrapped up here. If there's any problem, go back to the Gables, but make sure you don't do any magic there… it's being monitored by the aurors nowm but it should be safe enough in an emergency."

Harry slowly opened his eyes and found that he was lying on the living room sofa with thick ropes wrapped tightly around him. He was still wearing only a towel wrapped around his midsection, and he could tell he had been there for a while considering how dry he felt. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jaana crouched before the hearth speaking through the floo with Healer Cooley. He opened his mouth to call out to Jaana, but found that he had a silencing spell placed upon him.

Harry did the only thing he could think of. He allowed himself to relax, cleared his mind, and willed himself back to his room. An instant later he faded from sight, leaving the ropes that were binding him behind, as well as the damp towel that was preserving his modesty.

Harry reappeared in his room lying upon his bed. He jumped up and opened his trunk where he found his bag of wrapped goo balls. He hurriedly popped one into his mouth and quickly chewed as he gathered up his wand and a set of his own clothes. He felt his body changing just as he faded from his room.

Harry appeared just beyond the crest of a nearby rocky ridge beyond the stream that ran along their property line. After a hasty, non-verbal finite to cancel the silencing spell, which only took him four tries to finally accomplish, he quickly clothed himself and descended the ridge to the edge of the stream.

Since the summer thaw had swelled the once tiny rivulet and submerged the rocks that usually made a stepping path across the water, he needed to find another way across. Harry pointed his wand at a nearby reed and silently cast an Engorgio upon it. He focused his concentration on the reed until it was about twenty feet tall, and then, with a magical nudge, he pushed the reed so that it fell across the river. Another silent spell later, the reed had changed into a makeshift iron bridge which Harry crossed easily. Once on the other bank, he reversed all of the spells and watched the reed drift lazily downstream.

Harry tucked his wand into his pocket and calmly strode towards the house just as Jaana burst out through the back door of the house.

"Harry!" cried Jaana in a panicked voice as she raced towards him with her wand drawn and scanning the area with wide, wild eyes. She ran up to him and threw her arms around him as she rapidly said, "Are you alright? Where have you been? Did you see a naked man come out of the house?"

"No, I haven't seen anyone," answered Harry, "I was just across the stream… um…"

Harry was going to say that he was practicing his magic, but suddenly remembered that Jaana had mentioned to Healer Cooley that she had seen his wand on his nightstand.

"…I was… just…" Harry still found it difficult to lie to Jaana.

Jaana briefly glanced towards the ridge after seeing the guilty look on Harry's face and breathed a small sigh of relief, "I know… you were waiting to see if Ella Harmansdottir would pass by the road today…"

The guilty look fell from Harry's face, only to be replaced by an expression of shocked disgust. Ella was a slightly older girl who lived a few miles down the road towards Reykjavik. She was short and round, with a mottled, pale complexion, very closely cropped red hair, and the personality of a cornered shrew. He thought that she could easily pass for a boy… in fact, the first few times that he had seen her, he had thought she actually was a boy.

Harry was about to defend himself against the appalling supposition on Jaana's part when she tightly grabbed hold of his arm and said, "… but we have to leave here… now!"

Before Harry could react, he felt that suffocating, squeezing sensation that was so unlike how he normally traveled as they Apparated away.

To where, Harry had no way of knowing.

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Sunday, July 2nd, 1989 6:03 PM

"I couldn't be sure, 'eadmaster… it looked like it could'a been 'im, but I did'n get close 'nuff ta see 'im clearly b'fore they Apparated away."

An old, gray wizard with an extremely long, equally gray beard, a crooked nose, and a weary look in his light blue eyes leaned tiredly back in his seat and rubbed at the tension in his temples.

"At least the fact that they are magical is a step in the right direction. The information we received from the Icelandic Ministry turned out to be helpful after all. Did you investigate the house after they left?"

"Aye, I did, 'eadmaster," answered the very large man standing before the Headmaster's large desk, "There wasn't much there that told us anythin' we didn' already know… the property is owned by the Figg family, an' a niece o' Arabella's has been staying there. I saw 'er name on a few documents, but we already knew 'er name was Jaana…"

"But was there anything on the boy staying with her?"

"There was one thing… I dunno if it's importan' or anythin', but the girl and some large, dark-skinned fellow came back while I was there an' I had to hide usin' my umbreller… sorry abou' that… but I saw 'er collect a few things, an' one o' them was a book. I just caught the title as she stuffed it away… "The Life o' 'arry James Potter… It's strange tha' she'd go out of her way for a simple book abou' 'arry…"

"Hmmm…" muttered the old wizard, "I never knew there was a book with that particular title, but there are so many of them written about him... The next time you're in Diagon Alley, make a point of visiting Flourish and Blott's. I'd like to see a copy of that book. In the meantime, check back with Arabella and see if there's anything new she's learned about what went on with the Dursleys. There has to be more than what she's been told… and if not, it's high time I took a personal hand in this matter. There has to something more than Harry just 'disappearing' in the middle of the night from St. Mungo's… Merlin knows there's no getting around the magical oath that the Healers take there to keep patient's personal information a secret."

"I'll talk to 'er again, 'eadmaster, but I doubt there'll be anythin' more she'll tell us. 'er niece 'asn't been back to see 'er, an' you know the Dursleys 'ave 'ad their memories erased…"

The old wizard sighed in resignation, "Well, do talk to her again. Maybe there's something that she has remembered since our last chat with her. I have a Floo meeting with Minister Fudge in a few minutes to discuss the monitoring of wizarding households here in Britain. There has been talk of removing the monitors since there's been no sightings of Harry in the country, but I'd like to see the monitors kept active… It's appalling how many pureblood families have been allowing their underage children to practice magic, just to give them a feeling of superiority over those who were raised in…"

Just then, the fireplace in the old Headmaster's office flared up with a bright green flame, and an instant later the head of the wizarding government appeared hovering within the flames in the hearth.

"Dumbledore! Dumbledore!," yelled the disembodied head in a panicked voice, "Are you there?"

The old wizard rose from his chair and approached the fireplace. Crouching down, he addressed Minister Fudge, "Yes Minister, You're a half hour early, but no matter… what can I…"

"I've just received word a moment ago!" exclaimed Fudge, "There's been an escape from Azkaban! It's that scoundrel Black! He's escaped! They were just collecting the trays after the evening meal and found his cell empty!"

The old wizard looked genuinely shocked, and the large, hairy man standing behind him wore an expression that wavered between anger and panic.

"This is bad, Dumbledore!" yelled the Minister, "What are we going to do? What do I tell the people… and the press? Do I keep this under wraps? Oh, this is dreadful!"

"No," replied Dumbledore quickly, "You must inform the public… and I'm afraid that you must let the muggles know, also. You'll need all the help you can get to find him, even from the muggles."

Dumbledore's eyes momentarily shifted to the set of whirling, tinkling, and smoking instruments on a nearby table. For over a year they had lain dormant, but earlier that day they came to life, telling him that Harry Potter was once again in range of their magic, and therefore, probably back in England.

He turned his attention back to the minister and ruefully said, "I'm afraid that the time for inaction has passed, in more ways than one. Contact whoever you need to contact."

Fudge gave an exasperated huff before the floo connection closed and the green flames returned to their normal yellow-orange colour.

Dumbledore turned back to large man and tiredly said, "Get some rest, Hagrid. You've had a busy few days."

Hagrid, still looking distraught, solemnly nodded and left the office. Dumbledore walked back to his desk and sat heavily in his chair.

He knew full well who it was that he sent Hagrid to scout after, just as he had known who it was that caused the alert with the auror squad that investigated the illegal apparition and underage use of magic the Christmas before. Just the fact that even he was having a difficult time tracking the boy was enough for him to allow the young Figg girl to continue to look after him. If it wasn't for Arabella's assurance that her niece, Jaana, could be an adequate guardian for the Boy Who Lived, along with the subsequent disappearance of said boy with him unable to locate the lad for months, he would have been much more intense in the search for the boy after he first disappeared.

He glanced around at the various portraits of former Hogwarts Headmasters and commented, more to himself than to them, "I think it's time that I invited our wayward young 'ex-healer-in-training' for a little chat… that is, if I can find her. She has been a well enough guardian up until this point, but things have just become exponentially more serious."

Most of the portraits nodded in agreement.

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